


Mate Claiming

by Annabelle_W



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, First Meetings, Human Jensen Ackles, M/M, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Soulmates, Top Jared Padalecki, Vampire Jared Padalecki, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25275328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabelle_W/pseuds/Annabelle_W
Summary: After centuries alone, Jared has given up on finding his mate.  Then he spots a beautiful human and recognizes the resonance of their souls.  But how can he convince him to give up the life he's always known for one so very different?Jensen has his life together: gorgeous fiancee, awesome job, loyal friends.  So why is he so attracted to the mysterious, terrifying stranger who keeps popping up?
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Danneel Harris, Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Comments: 33
Kudos: 109





	1. Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to make Jensen the vampire, but then I came across a photo of Jared smoking at night in an industrial area and changed my mind. Besides, everyone makes Jensen the vampire.

Jensen's POV:

We step out of the air-conditioned bar into the still-oppressive heat of Texas summer nights. Chris stumbles as he weaves around a puddle of unknown origin, bumps into me when he overcorrects. His surprised guffaw deteriorates into hiccups, as he leans on me for balance.

I steady him. "We need to work on your walking skills, buddy." I proceed to bump into a telephone pole that I'm positive wasn't there thirty seconds ago.

Chris laughs harder. "Right back atcha, bro."

We clap each other's backs, enjoying the easy camaraderie we've shared since meeting at UT a decade ago, when I was in the process of realizing sports therapy wasn't right for me and the MBA candidate I worked with at the campus bookstore convinced me I could use a business degree to follow whatever dreams I might have. Not that anyone seeing us now would guess that we're Master's degree holding entrepreneurs. 

My best friend trips over an uneven square of sidewalk, crashes into me, causing the two of us to tumble to the side, where a helpful brick building stops our fall.

I straighten, brushing myself off while surreptitiously glancing around the dark street to see if anyone observed our failure of coordination. A trio of scantily-clad women giggle as they pass--but they also give us a slow, approving, once-over. Bitten lips and flipped hair and coy backward glances almost make me wish I was single. Beside me, Chris winks and salutes them, indicating he feels the same way. 

An icy breeze stirs the hairs on the back of my neck.

An involuntary urge has me turning, casting my eyes across the dimly-lit street.

A man--an extraordinarily tall man--leans against the graffitied wall staring at me. Dark waves fall over a chiseled face. Lean muscles pop under a black v-neck tee shirt. One long-fingered hand taps a slow rhythm on the fading paint behind him. One slender eyebrow rises in response to my regard while shapely pink lips curve around a cigarette and angular cheeks hollow as he sucks in the smoke.

I forget how to breathe.

"Jensen." An arm waves in front of my face. "Jensen!"

I blink rapidly. "Sorry, Chris, I was-" What was I? "Distracted." I peer across the street again, but the strangely captivating man is gone. All I can see is the word "Seduction" in spray-painted artistry.

The only sign he was ever there is a faint tendril of smoke curling up from a discarded butt.

*

"So, then I was thinking the bridesmaids should wear red since the ruby is the July birthstone, but red seems like such a generic color, but if I pick the right shade it will look good on all of them," Danneel chatters, holding and twisting my hands in both of hers, causing her diamond to wink and cast sparkling lights on the restaurant table. "And maybe the groomsmen could have ties to match."

I caress her finger with my thumb. "I'm sure they'll look beautiful no matter what color you pick."

"But not too beautiful, I hope." She winks.

"Not next to you," I tell her truthfully. "That wouldn't be possible." I twirl my fingers around her stunning red curls as we kiss.

A faint crash startles me from our romantic bubble, jerks my attention out the giant window beside our booth.

The glossy dark remains of a bottle swim in a spreading pool of what looks like red liquid on the parking lot asphalt. A black boot--presumably belonging to the bottle dropper--steps out of reach of the tiny flood, the movement causing charcoal denim to stretch around the curve of a well-built runner's leg. My eyes pause inexplicably in their route upwards to note a sizable bulge behind the guy's zipper before observing a pair of aviator sunglasses hanging from the neck of a navy blue polo and traveling high enough to recognize the man from last night.

He's propped against a black and ruby Harley glaring at me. His pallid skin and red-rimmed grey (?) eyes hint at a night spent drinking (and remind me of what I saw in the mirror after I floundered out of bed). Wait, he's glaring at me? What did I-? No. He's glaring at Danneel. That makes even less sense.

Danneel, who's pursing her lips in confusion, her head tilted to the side. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It's just. That guy." I gesture at the window, hoping the sight of the intimidating boxer helps clarify my fumbling words.

She turns, watches him light up. Her face softens. "I get it. I still get cravings, too, sometimes." She covers my hand with her own.

I study her juniper nail polish. Hers was a rational assumption but my former nicotine addiction was the last thought on my mind. How can I tell her that I'm as drawn to my (possible) stalker as I am terrified? How do I explain that my tightened jeans are more a result of the breadth of the stranger's shoulders than her kiss? Especially when none of that makes any sense to me.

An engine roars outside. I don't have to look to know my stranger just zoomed off on his motorcycle.

*

Several hours later, I kiss Danneel goodbye after spending the day exploring potential wedding venues, accompanied by plentiful hand-holding, secret embraces, and laughter. She hops into her car, gives me a final blown kiss, drives away. I'm glad there's no one in the deserted parking garage to see my dreamy smile. How did I ever get so lucky as to win this gorgeous, brilliant, fun, caring woman?

My own vehicle waits on another floor of the garage, where I left it when we decided to share transportation until she had to leave to meet her sister (and maid of honor) for dinner. My glow fades into nonexistence by the time I'm out of the elevator and facing the dark, sparsely-lit area entirely alone.

Was the lot always this vast?

I hurry my steps, almost running as I cross the concrete room, my hands slipping twice before I manage to click my truck unlocked. I arrive, heave a quick sigh of relief, reach to open the door. 

Something slams me against the cab.

In the time it takes to restart my lungs, hands have thoroughly explored my back, lips rendered ticklish from stubble have conquered my neck, and something hard and recognizably-shaped has started poking and moving against my rear.

My heart decides to join a Roman chariot race. But--oddly--entirely from adrenaline, from a potent mixture of anger and arousal. The fear I felt a moment ago whooshed away with my breath when my chest hit my truck window. 

The utterly, extremely male body behind me pulls me flush against him, grinds against a portion of my anatomy I never previously associated with sexual desire. Who knew I was so sensitive back there? I'm tempted to allow myself to enjoy the sensation for a moment. But. Seriously? This guy is touching me, an engaged (straight?) man, without my permission. That is not okay!

I smash my elbow back into his torso, spin around, hands out to push him away.

My stranger, my tall handsome stranger--who something deep within me recognized the moment he put his hands on me--laughs, a deliciously-smooth, affectionate chuckle. "Oh, you are a fierce one," he pronounces. "A warrior in the making."

What is he talking about? "Yeah, not planning on joining the military, pal."

Another laugh. He throws his head back, long hair falling, fluttering in the process. "Funny, too," he declares. "Perfect." The last word is nearly whispered.

I inch towards my driver's side door. "Right." I ignore the far too huge part of me that wants to stay with this confusing, clearly dangerous man.

One second he's a foot away, still shaking his head in amusement, the next he's pressed against me with his nose buried in my neck. He breathes in audibly. Smelling me? I jump, ready myself to push him away again, but he's absent. Once again, completely out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Just as I'm climbing in my truck, a murmured word floats to me on the wind.

"Mine."


	2. Mate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to Jared!--He's two years older than me again.

Jared's POV:

I prowl the busiest streets of after-dark downtown Austin, seeking the best spot for a stakeout to locate tonight's prey, preferably in the form of a tiny brunette female, so that my minutes with her in my arms will remind me what it was like to be human and in love.

A likely location presents itself in form of a wall covered in stunning, but almost certainly illegal, art. Several bars and clubs bustle in my line of sight, attracting hoards of healthy young people. Perfect.

I relax my predatory posture, light a cigarette. I learned centuries ago that humans are less suspicious of a man eyeing the crowds when he's occupied by smoking. (Besides, nicotine cravings helpfully distract me from the always-present desire to drink the city dry).

An alluring scent thrusts into my nose, overpowering all the other smells in the noisome, cacophonous street.

I stumble, back bouncing slightly as I hit the wall. I gasp, breathe in more of that delectable aroma. Dizziness threatens to overpower me as my blood races downwards and I grow hard for the first time since I was turned.

How? What? Where? Most importantly, most urgently, who?

A quick scan reveals two giggling, wobbling, inebriated men. That intoxicating perfume comes from a male? I sniff the air again. Beer, cologne, masculine musk accented with notes of dark chocolate, coffee, cherry wood. Definitely male. So definitely one of these two men. Which?

The smaller (or, more accurately, shorter) one rambles a convoluted story. His face is attractive, his body built, his voice musical. He looks like someone Chad would sample, but he simply doesn't appeal to me.

I cock my head, purse my lips, study his friend. Tall. Lean, but created more stocky than lanky. Bowed legs. Hair that could be light brown or dark blond, hard to say which. He turns his head slightly, granting me a full view of his face. Long eyelashes shadow eyes that my vampire eyes can see are a lovely, clear shade of green. Unusually high cheekbones. Strong jaw. Full, pouty lips. 

My hand shakes as I lift my smoke to my mouth.

Never, in all my centuries on this earth, have I encountered a woman as beautiful as this man.

As if sensing my regard, he raises his head, meets my gaze.

I'm gobsmacked for the second time in a space of two minutes.

Verdant orbs glisten with intensity, intelligence, creativity, empathy. They widen in response to my attention, replacing those wondrous traits with fear and curiosity. Fear. Shouldn't he fear me? I am planning to drain his blood. Right?

Pain stabs my chest at the thought of leaving him in an alley somewhere, pale with blood loss, possibly dying.

No!

This dazzling, exquisite man is not, will never food.

He's . . . he's . . . .

My mate.

*

Twenty-four chaotic, confusing hours later, I restlessly pace the living room of my penthouse apartment. He's engaged (to a woman). But his pupils expanded with lust at my proximity. He's male. But my body clearly doesn't care. He's human. But that can be fixed. He's terrified of me. But-

I don't know.

I can't steal him away, change him, seduce him, keep him by my side until all thoughts of anyone else fade from his mind. (Much as I would like to). If I did that, I would spend the rest of my existence wondering if any feelings he might have for me are solely the result of Stockholm Syndrome. It would murder any chance of a healthy, durable relationship.

I clench my fists until my nails pierce my skin, leaving bloody half-moons (healing rapidly) on my palms.

I don't even know my mate's name.

I grab a cloisonne lamp off a nearby side table, fling it with all my might at the wall. It crashes into a mirror I bought in Paris three hundred years ago, producing a fountain of sparkling glass that falls into a pile of satisfying destruction.

"Remind me never to piss you off." Gen saunters into the room, smelling of the frat boy who must have been her dinner. And her mate's seed.

I grimace, stifle a gag. Still the distraction from my discordant thoughts is much appreciated. "You piss me off every day."

She grins unapologetically. 

I stare, struck by the appealing shape and inviting sparkle of her dark eyes. There was a time when I thought her the most exquisite woman in the universe, but her beauty hasn't moved me--hasn't been able to move me--for hundreds of years. I remember how ecstatic I felt when my Polish merchant father introduced me to the Italian girl he'd arranged to be my wife. She was lovely and fun and sweet and we were gloriously happy. For awhile. Four miscarriages, three stillbirths, and, most painful of all, one little girl who died the day before her first birthday left us grief-stricken, broken, and prime fodder for the smooth-talking vampire who found us wandering the bridges of Venice and persuaded us to leave mortality and join his nest.

We emerged from the blood-fervor to find our grief as strong as ever, but our love for one another permanently changed. We no longer felt anything romantic or sexual for each other. When asked, our new leader shrugged, said, "Guess you two weren't mates." I used rage and newfound vampiric strength to rip his head off. Making me the new nest leader.

"Looks like a disco ball exploded in here." Gen's mate, JD, raises an eyebrow as he steps gingerly into the room. We met the Welsh vampire thirty years after taking control of the Venetian nest. He forewent exploring the Doge's palace in favor of exploring Gen's body. (They connected so rapidly, so immediately that they would have mated in full view of humans and vampires alike had I not pushed them into a helpful closet).

"Yes," Gen replies. "I'm still waiting for an explanation." She and JD side-hug, look at me expectantly. 

I remind myself that these two have been my closest friends and lieutenants for over half a millennium. I can trust them. "I found my mate."

Gen actually jumps up and down, clapping her hands. "I knew it! It's Sandy, right? I knew she was exactly your type."

Sandy's a member of a nest we recently absorbed. She's a tiny, dark-eyed brunette and I won't deny a part of me hoped to feel a spark when we met, but my only reaction was a calm, disinterested admiration for her charms. "No." My actual mate twinkling at his fiancee flashes across my mind. I wince, turn away.

A firm, comforting hand lands on my shoulder. JD's deep voice soothes me as he informs me, "Whoever she is, she's your mate. She won't be able to resist you for long."

I laugh humorlessly. "He," I correct. "He's a human and he's engaged."

Gen slides in front of me. "Well, 'he' is our future co-leader. Go win him!"

Her optimistic enthusiasm infects me. "You know what? I will. He's mine." I pause before racing to find my intended, recalling that a human is likely to be in bed at this hour. Plus, my duties as nest leader haven't disappeared. "Did you two have something to tell me? Chad didn't turn another stripper, did he?"

JD crosses to his mate's side, takes her hand. "We have news." Gen glows, rubs a slow hand over her stomach, which I now notice is very slightly rounded.

My eyes pop. We'd all heard the rumors that mated vampires can procreate the human way, but "I thought that was a myth."

JD's proud grin nearly stretches across the room. "Apparently not."

*

I'm already so attuned to my mate's scent that it takes me only a few minutes the next morning to locate him in a brewery on the outskirts of town. I slip inside, sunglasses firmly in place, making sure to slink into the deepest shadows, hidden behind the most patrons. He's behind the bar, laughing at something the bartender beside him just said. His head tips back, revealing a lovely neck, marked only by delectable dots of cinnamon freckles.

My jeans tighten.

"Jensen!" a familiar voice calls. My mate's friend from a couple nights ago marches in, carrying a large box. "I found the vintage record player you've been looking for."

My mate someone how manages to brighten even further. He hastens around the bar, grabs the box and sets it on one of the cozy room's coffee tables to open it. Sure enough, it contains a pristine wooden record player, varnished to a mirrored shine. He caresses the lid, sighs, "Awesome." His Texas drawl adds a few extra syllables. 

I find myself mouthing the word in imitation. I now know my mate's name. Jensen. Awesome, indeed.

"I'm just gonna go get some Led Zep and Johnny Cash. Keep an eye on that for me?" He-Jensen winks at a group of women, all gazing adoringly at him, before heading through a door behind the bar.

I follow, vampiric speed making me invisible to anyone not expecting to see me. The moment we're out of the reach and sound (for humans) from the busy bar/lobby I corner him in an alcove. He gasps as he looks up at me. "You!"

"Jared," I correct. "My name's Jared."

His heartbeat quickens, his cheeks flush, his eyes dilate. The smell of his arousal permeates the air. Barely any anger colors his voice when he asks, "What are you doing here?"

"Finding you." I press the length of my body against his, lower my lips to his ear. "Come see me tonight," I whisper. I fold his fingers around a card with the name and address of my favorite among the many bars and clubs I own. Then, to his human senses, vanish.

He'll be there. He'll be mine.

I'm certain of it.


	3. Mistake?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband was in Dallas when I wrote the first two chapters and I channeled all of my longing and pining into this story. Let's see how much the tone changes now that he's back (and I've been pounded into the mattress a couple times).

Jensen's POV:

I berate myself the whole drive to downtown Austin, but no logical, cohesive, or even emotional (but Danneel!) arguments derail my inexplicable, overwhelming desire to see my stranger--Jared--again, so it isn't long before I find myself pulling into a small lot behind the bar Jared directed me to.

It's full. Of course it is. I've just resigned myself to parking blocks away when a nondescript black car glides out of the space closest to the back exit and roars off. That's suspiciously coincidental. But I'm not going to refuse an excellent parking space just on the chance it's a set-up.

*

As I walk into the club, the final notes of a classic rock song merge into the beginning melody of a classic country ballad. After a few more steps, it becomes clear that the homey, comforting atmosphere isn't confined to the music. The lighting is dim but not dark. Lamps adorn the tables, gifting each one an intimate quality. Lots of armchairs, comfy couches. A checkered dance floor. Wooden furniture. This is a place to relax with friends, not get wasted and grind against strangers.

Twentysomething me would have found it dull but thirtysomething me adores it, wants to bring Chris and Danneel and my siblings here.

Danneel. Guilt explodes inside my chest. The only reason why I came here is to see a man whose intentions towards me are not remotely platonic. What does that say about me?--Annnnnd now I'm back to berating myself.

I roll my eyes at my inconstancy, march in the direction of the bar.

But.

A familiar tingling on my nape has me altering my trajectory, moving deeper into the spacious, shadowy room.

He's watching me. I can feel him.

My feet carry me all the way to the back of the club, where three leather couches form an open square around a low table, topped with drinks, expensively-clad feet, and one of those squat lamps I noticed when I first came in. The bar patrons, I notice, keep several feet of distance when passing this nook, even though every single person seated there is preternaturally beautiful.

An athletic brunette whispers in the ear of a man whose pepper and salt beard does nothing to hide his rugged handsomeness. A statuesque blonde exchanges glares with an equally blond male. A tiny ginger perches on the lap of a guy with messy black hair and huge (blue?) eyes. 

But they are all eclipsed by the pulchritude of the man posing on the central couch, somehow giving the impression of lounging on a throne. One toned arm stretches across the couch back, one black-denim-covered leg crosses the other. His (huge) free hand reaches up to push his wavy hair off his sculpted face.

I almost lose my footing.

When I catch my balance, Jared crooks one long finger, beckoning me.

Is there a hypnotic power in those slanted eyes?--Because I feel compelled to walk in his direction until my legs are centimeters from his.

A knowing smirk greets me. Jared pats the chocolate brown leather beside him. "Join me."

I sit.

"Relax."

I lean back. The arm still draped over the backrest brushes against my shoulders.

A bell-like tinkle of laughter turns my head. The blonde tosses her curls, leans forward. "Don't worry," she confides. "He'll only bite if you ask him to."

A sudden vision of Jared leaning over to give me a hickey assails my mind. I swallow.

Beside me, Jared shifts, clears his throat. Could he be imagining the same thing?

Strangely, Jared's display of discomfort gives me the courage to meet his eyes, thank him for inviting me. The opening chords for "Don't Fear the Reaper" rumble from the speakers, so I add, "Love the music."

A swift, sparkling smile. "I think the sixties and seventies were the golden age for rock."

I can't resist grinning back. "No arguments there."

A titter from my left, followed by a lilting Scottish brogue commenting, "Well, when all conversation fails, the two of you can always discuss music."

Jared stands abruptly. "That's it." I can almost see sparks fly from his eyes and fingers. "This isn't going to work. I need some air." He raises an inquiring eyebrow at me. "Join me?"

I nod, scramble to my feet. I'm not sure what I hope to achieve by getting to know Jared, but I do know it won't happen with his friends constantly interrupting.

*

Instead of taking me out the backdoor located so close to my truck, Jared leads me through an employee door, down a hall, up some steps, down another hall, through a small room, and out a pair of French doors onto a balcony.

I breathe in the balmy air, admire the colorful city lights.

"Not the most magnificent view, but I like it," Jared says, seemingly responding to my thoughts.

"I can see why. From here you can see just how" I pause, search for the right word "alive Austin is."

His dimples pop. "That's exactly it. It's why I've made Austin my home."

I smile back. "Same."

He leans forward, eyes dark, and grazes my neck with his fingers. I bite my lip, tilt my head to the side to give him more room, my eyes dropping shut. His grip tightens. Cool breath caresses my skin. I hold my own breath in anticipation-

The fingers disappear. 

I open my eyes to find Jared as far from me as he can get on this small balcony, gripping the railing far too tightly with one hand, while reaching into his back pocket with the other. He pulls out a pack of smokes, offers it to me. "Want one?"

Yes. "No."

He regards me curiously as he lights up, takes a drag. "Hmm."

Most people I come across assume everyone's a nonsmoker--since most people are--so it's odd that I feel the need to explain myself. "I quit. And it's still a struggle sometimes."

He scratches the stubble on his chin. "I see." A pause. "You want me to stop?"

I get the impression he's referring to more than right this second. I shake my head. "No. It's okay." I watch the smoke curl around his striking features, feeling strangely envious of the vapor.

A quick smile. "How about just a taste?" He inhales, stubs out his smoke, grabs my face. Cool lips touch mine as he blows the last remnants of his final drag into my lungs. I breathe in the seductive smoke, but find myself captivated by the even more seductive kiss.

When he pulls away, I gasp out, "I want another taste," and jerk his head back down so our mouths can meet again. Our lips join in a dance, every movement tantalizing, every touch addicting. I wind my arms around his neck, bury my hands in the soft waves of his hair.

He growls deep in his throat, walks me backwards until we bang into a wall. He pins me against it, aligning our bodies deliciously. Pressure builds in my groin, leaving me desperate for some friction. Maybe . . . . I slide my left leg up and around his waist. Ohhhh, yes. I drop my head against the plaster with a moan. That moan rises in decibel when Jared grabs my leg, adjusts it so we can rub our lengths together perfectly, gloriously.

Nothing has ever felt this amazing. I'm sure of it. Not even . . . not even sex with . . . .

A firm realization of exactly where I am and who I'm with (and who I'm not with) catapults into me. I push Jared ineffectually until he seems to grasp that I want him to move and steps away.

For a moment, we stare at each other, panting. Eventually, I force out, "I can't--I won't do this. It's wrong. I-I'm engaged. And I love Danneel." I pinch the nerve between my eyes. "I don't know why I'm so attracted to you, but this has to end." I slip past him, head for the door. Just before walking through it, I whisper one last phrase.

"I'm sorry."


	4. Method

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't it awesome to see Jared and Jensen together for the first time in far too many months?

Jared's POV:

It takes me a moment to collect myself after Jensen vanishes into the building. I just received clear evidence that he feels our connection, our bond, but he's choosing to reject it and us. He must know--or at least sense--that his Danneel can never give him the passion, the intimacy, the eternal devotion that he'd experience with me. There's proof enough of this in my own life. No mortal man could have adored his wife more than human me loved my Gen, but that infatuation is a mere shadow beside the vibrancy of my ardor for Jensen.

It has to be the same for him.

To my knowledge, there has never been a vampire's mate refused to pair with him. The magnetic attraction to one's fated life partner is simply too powerful to ignore. At least, it's supposed to be. The prospect of a future without Jensen is too painful for me to contemplate.

That same painful future awaits Jensen if he stubbornly insists on a short half-life with a human instead of an eternity of bliss with me.

I won't let that happen.

*

I leap over the railing to land easily on the sidewalk several yards below. Several smokers milling near the club entrance blink at me before shaking their heads, evidently concluding they didn't actually see what they just saw.

I allow myself to smirk while startling them again by seemingly disappearing. (Though, in reality, simply moving faster than their human brains can comprehend).

I stop between Jensen and the driver's side door of his truck.

He jumps, green eyes widening, sensuous lips falling open. His scent briefly intensifies, letting me know his body remains aroused whatever his brain might have decided.

Could he be any more appealing?

My fingers have just grazed his hip as I lean forward, when thunderclouds storm his eyes and his brows draw together. He springs backward, glaring at me. "How do you keep appearing out of thin air like that?"

That's what he chooses to berate me for?--Not for bothering him when he already rejected me? I hide a smile, slink closer. "I'll tell you if you give me another chance."

His breath hitches, his pupils dilate. Still, he lifts his chin, declares, "I shouldn't have given you the first one." His eyes drop in a heavy sweep of lashes. "I'm going through enough guilt as it is."

I cup his face. "I get it. If I'd met you when I was still involved with my ex, I would have been beating myself up all over the place." No lie there: my brooding human emotions would never have allowed me to enjoy my time with Jensen after betraying my wife. Glad I'm no longer human.

His face shutters. "Look, I'm flattered, but I'm not going to cheat on Danni." He pauses, colors. "Well, more than I have. And I'm not breaking my engagement for someone I just met, like, two days ago."

Was it only two days ago?--It feels like I've known Jensen for so much longer, like he's been there all my life just waiting for me to spot him. I trace the contours of his gorgeous cheekbones with my thumbs. "Just give me the chance to explain everything. Then." I huff a breath. "Then if you still feel this way, I'll leave you alone." If I can.

He shuts his eyes in submission. "Fine."

*

In a silent agreement, we leave both my bar and his truck and start to wander the lamplit streets. Thankfully, the warm weather makes it a pleasant night for a walk. (Although, admittedly, I would enjoy trekking through two feet of snow if Jensen tromped by my side).

We remain quiet for several blocks, already so much in sync as to stroll in calm contentment without a hint of the awkwardness that should exist for a pair on the verge of a serious, life-altering, discussion. Somehow, without ever verbally agreeing, we've both decided to wait until we reach a suitable location.

Like this bridge.

This lovely, deserted bridge with ornate parapets looking out over swift, dark water. 

Jensen leans over the ledge to study the river, giving me a delightful opportunity to admire the contours of his luscious body. After peering into the depths for several minutes, he stiffens, then asks without looking at me, "So let's hear your explanation for stalking me."

I sidle over to his side. "Your my mate."

Confusion skates over his handsome features. "Like soulmate?"

Close enough. "Yes." I trace the curve of his bicep with one finger. "You're the one person in all the world who was made to be with me."

He ducks away from my touch. "That's crazy talk. There are probably millions of people who would suit either of us just fine. In fact, I already found one. Danneel. Remember?" His heart speeds up, drumming at a fantastic pace inside his chest.

I slowly glide forward until scant inches separate us. "It's true for my people. There's just one for each of us." As far as I know, at any rate. Widowed vampires wither away, dying within days or weeks of losing their mates. They don't recover from (unimaginable) grief and move on, like humans seem able to. "You're mine."

Shadows swarm his visage. "How can you be certain?"

I allow myself a slight smile. "I feel the truth deep within me." I reach out, run my fingers through the softness of his short hair. "I knew you were mine the moment I" smelled "saw you."

He permits my caress, even leans into it a bit. "This still doesn't make sense. There's still something you're not telling me."

My mate's perceptive! Warm pride blooms within me. "I'm . . . different from you."

A raised eyebrow. "Clearly." A quick smirk fades into a frown. "But different how?"

If I inform him I'm a vampire, he'll probably laugh derisively, conclude I really am a lunatic. "Maybe it would be better if I showed you." I step back several paces, make certain I'm beneath a streetlight, and open my mouth to reveal the descent of my fangs.

Jensen muffles his gasp with his hand, but there's no hiding the hugeness of his horrified eyes. After several tense seconds, his heart rate slows from a gallop to a (still fast) trot, and he removes his head. "Well," he comments, with clear forced calmness, "that explains the stalking. Please tell me you don't sparkle."

I laugh. "No." My voice deepens, "But when I ask you to spend eternity with me I really mean eternity."

He stops breathing for an almost worrisome amount of time. "Why does that sound so tempting?" he mutters, apparently to himself. "It shouldn't--I've never wanted anything like that."

I venture closer. "It's because you're mine--you're meant to watch the centuries flow by at my side."

His attention fixates on my mouth, with a scrutinizing glower that makes it clear that he's focused on my teeth, not my lips. "You make it sound so easy, so glamorous." He makes those words sound like foul curses. "But it would mean I'd have to become a-" He slams his mouth shut.

I raise an eyebrow. "A monster?" I lower my head, trail kisses over his jaw and neck. "Is that what you think I am?"

He dips his head to one side, granting me more access. "Not . . . really." The phrase comes out as a moan. He presses his skin against my mouth. "What does it feel like? Your-your bite?"

I'm taking that as consent. "It will feel amazing," I promise, and sink my fangs into his artery.

Amazing is too mild a word. The taste and texture of the blood, combined with the smoothness of Jensen's skin, the responsiveness of his body, and the scent of his interest, make this experience phenomenal, sublime, transcendent.

Jensen presses his groin against mine, moves in an intoxicating roll. I crowd him against the parapet, grind back. He rolls faster, fingers scratching and bruising my shoulders. I pull out of his neck, lave the wound, swallow the final drops of crimson nectar. Jensen responds with a long, low groan, followed by a muttered, "I want a taste."

Yes! I race to hold a bleeding wrist to his lips before reason prevails and he changes his mind.

He drinks.


	5. Morph

Jensen's POV:

Daylight stabs my brain through my tightly-squeezed eyelids. My neighbor stomps from her bedroom to her kitchen, where she slams a mug onto her counter and sloshes pungent coffee into it. I flinch, my normally-smooth sheets lightly scratching my skin. The thump of a dumpster lid falling shut a couple blocks away swirls the air, sending rancid wafts my direction. I groan, wrinkle my nose. Doors bang open and closed. Food is prepared, eaten, expelled. And why is it so freaking bright in here?!

I screw my eyes open.

The blaring morning sunlight pounding my skull filters through tightly-closed blinds with a blanket hung over them to block the entrance of as many rays as possible. Wait. I squint. That's my quilt with the UT logo that I keep folded on the chair beside my bed on the off-chance Austin's warm winters ever grow cold enough to need an extra layer. I know I didn't move it.

A new smell pirouettes into my nose, muscles out the nauseating food, garbage, and other, even less palatable, odors.

I breathe in copper, lavender, leather, smoke, sandalwood. My lower abdomen clenches, even as my tense shoulder muscles relax. I harden down south, at the same time as my burgeoning headache calms. The scent entices, arouses me, while also comforting me, reminding me of evenings spent perched on a kitchen stool watching my father bake cookies while my mother worked on the dishes (or vice versa)--reminding me of home.

I'm not surprised when Jared saunters into my bedroom.

He meets my gaze with a smirk, the coolness of which is belied by the concern I detect in the depths of his hazel eyes. I contemplate the intellectual curve of his lips, recall the dagger-like teeth distending below them, ready to tear out my throat.

I touch my neck, find it clean and unmarked. Either I imagined ever having a ragged wound or it healed unnaturally fast.

A dull ache throbs inside my gums, mild enough to seem almost like the memory of pain. And heretofore easily unnoticed amidst the agonizing throb of oversensitivity invading the rest of my body. I slowly lift a cautious finger, prod one of the bumps above my teeth. Pop. Glide. Snick. Out comes a brand new fang.

That answers all the questions I had about the too-bright, too-loud, too scratchy, too-stinky world I woke up to.

(Guess it's good to know it was just me that changed while the world continues as it ever was).

I pull myself into a sitting position leaning against the headboard, cross my arms, sigh, uncross my arms. "So, what now?" I don't bother to look away from the blue comforter I bunch and squeeze in my clenching fists.

I hear Jared venture closer. "That depends on what you want."

I study the pattern of fibers making up one of the tiny threads of my quilt. Who knew it was so intricate? "I don't know what I want. But. I didn't mean to ask for this." 

The mattress sinks under his considerable weight as he settles beside me. "I know. I-" He grabs my face, forces me to look at him. "You have to believe me when I say I didn't intend this, either. I just got so caught up in the moment that I lost control." He drops his eyes, shakes his head, mutters. "I never lose control. At least, not since I was very young."

I quash an urge to comfort him, shrug my shoulders instead. "Too late now."

A lengthy pause. He chews on the interior of his mouth. "Not necessarily."

I point at my mouth. "I think there's pretty clear proof that I'm" I can't bring myself to use the word vampire "like you now."

"Not yet." Jared fiddles with the hem of his silky black button-down, in a nervous gesture I wouldn't have expected to see from the self-assured predator who seduced me. "The change won't be complete until you've tasted human blood."

I have a suspicion I'll regret asking this, but, "What happens if I never do?"

"One of three things." He holds up a corresponding number of fingers. "You'll starve to death over the course of three or four months, maybe five if you eat plenty of bloody steak and drink tons of water." He lowers one finger. "Or you'll go mad with hunger and go on a rampage, drinking as many humans dry as you can before you're stopped by either us" he points at himself "or hunters."

"Hunters?" I find myself asking. "Vampire hunters? Like Buffy?"

A surprised chuckle. "Usually not so cute."

My lips curve. "I prefer Faith, anyway." Our eyes meet for an indeterminate amount of time. I clear my throat, look away. "So, what's the third one?"

He swallows. "You try to survive on animal blood."

"That doesn't sound so bad." Actually, it sounds pretty gross, but I already eat animal meat, so I would just be switching the specific animal parts for my diet.

Jared takes my hand, rubs my palm. "It's not sustainable. Animal blood doesn't taste right and it's never satisfying. You would be hungry all the time until you finally broke. And, since you'd be stronger than the starving vampire, you would cause far more damage, rip apart far more people." Bitterness darkens his tone.

"You've seen that happen." It's not a question.

"Yes." He speaks so quietly that I would not have heard him without my new hearing. He drops the faintest whisper. "Wasn't pretty."

That's that, then. I blink away tears for my (perfectly happy) human life.

A pair of thumbs alight on my face, gently brush the salty moisture away. "There's a cure," Jared blurts.

All sadness whisks away. "There is?" I breathe. 

His ever-changing eyes adopt a stormy grey shade. "Yes." Abruptly, he stands, paces the room, hand clutching his head. When he speaks, his sentences are disjointed, chasing each other out of his mouth. "I meant to wait. To win you. To convince you to change. And. Now I've ruined everything." He stops with his back to me, facing my faded Star Wars poster. "Doesn't matter. I'll prepare the cure for you right now."

I slowly rise to my feet. "What do you need for that?"

"Me." He gestures to himself. "Well, my blood. And a few other things."

He's gone in the blink of an eye.

*

He returns half an hour later toting a black canvas bag.

I meet him in the kitchen, hair damp from a quick shower. (Turns out hot water spraying down my back feels even more gloriously sensuous now, but I had trouble enjoying it because my body refused to react to anyone but Jared. Thoughts of Danneel's lush breasts left me soft, ambivalent.)

Jared sniffs the air, understanding subduing his features. "We--vampires--only feel attraction to our mates. Once you drink this" he points to the mixture he's already preparing "you'll lust for your girl as much as ever."

Except I was already falling for Jared before he turned me. If anything, this (literal) turn of events merely solidifies the bond that started forming the moment we spotted one another. "Listen," I slowly begin, "This doesn't mean we have to stop hanging out. I was wrong last night. I do want to get to know you." I pause, peer at him through my eyelashes. "And, who knows, maybe I could be persuaded to change some time in the future." 

Jared drops his pestle. "It doesn't work that way. And if you keep tempting me like that, I'll-" He stops.

I move closer, examine the unappetizing sludge he's creating. "You'll what? And what do you mean 'It doesn't work that way'?"

He picks up his pestle, sets it carefully beside the bowl, huffs a breath. "One of my nest members once adopted a sick little human boy. She turned him. But children can't properly consent to being changed. So, we told her to give him the cure and then let him decide when he grew up. And he did. But it didn't work." A pause. Jared hides behind one lock of wavy brown hair. "At least being temporarily a vampire cured his cancer."

I step backwards so fast I stumble. "So, if I drink that, I can never be like you again?" I straighten to my full height. "No."

Jared glides over to me. "Are you certain?--You have to be certain because whichever choice you make now will be permanent." 

I reach out an arm, stop his progress. "I need to think."

*

I walk to Danneel's place. Hat, sunglasses, jacket, gloves, and a full bottle of sunscreen aren't quite enough to protect me from the glaring rays, but they make the sun almost bearable.

She greets me with a peck to my lips, a flirtatious grin, and a flip of her auburn mane. "I was wondering when you'd get here. I was thinking we could binge Next Generation and drink wine and . . . ." She raises a suggestive eyebrow.

Oh, yeah. Today is her day off and I told I would also take the day off (perk of owning my own business) and spend it with her. I force an answering smile as I follow her inside.

She snuggles against me on the couch, the floral scent of her perfume barely covering the enticing aroma of her blood. Mmm. Fresh, young, healthy. Mouthwatering. I dip my head, lick the lightly-tanned skin of her neck.

She moans, tips her head to grant me more access.

I dive in. 

My teeth scrape her neck as I suckle, drunk on her scent and desperate for the flavor I can almost taste through her delicate epidermis. I grip her arms, draw harder. The sweet aroma of her unmarred blood engulfs me in a heady cloud. More. I need more. Just a sample of that captivating nectar. My new fangs slide into place, ready to pierce that pulsating artery . . . .

No!

I jump backwards so far I bump into her tv, nearly dislodging it from its stand.

A very disheveled Danneel gapes at me in confusion. "What's wrong?"

I want to drain you dry. "I . . . I need" -blood- "a few minutes." I race from her tiny house, patting my pockets in a habitual, subconscious search. Still on autopilot, I'm puffing on a cancer stick before it occurs to me to wonder what a pack of Camels is doing in my jacket when I haven't smoked in two years. 

Jared.

Jared must have slipped it in there, knowing that I would require the help of an addictive substance to stop me from stealing my fiancee's lifeforce. Thoughtful of him.

Danneel follows me out, watches me smoke with a sad little frown. "I understand falling off the wagon sometimes," she begins, "but, Jensen, you know I want to have children and I don't want them to grow up with smokers for parents."

"I feel the same way," I assure her, nodding. Danneel's future children deserve two attentive parents, modeling healthy, ethical lifestyles. Danneel deserves a husband who's her equal partner in every way. And I am no longer picturing myself as a member of this idealistically perfect family.

Danneel purses her glossed lips, squints at me. "But?"

I take a long drag to avoid immediately responding. It occurs to me that the truth--the extent that I can safely share--will be easiest on her. "I met someone. And he's so . . . intoxicating, so different from anyone I've ever met, that he changed my whole outlook on life." I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't see her agonized face. "I don't know if it's just an infatuation, but I can't think of anyone but him, can't imagine being with anyone but him, and . . . I'm sorry."

Weighted silence. Then, "Him?"

"Him," I confirm.

"Well," she manages through gulping sobs, "easier than if it was a woman."

"I suppose," I reply, wiping at my own wet eyes. "Keep the ring."

*

Jared finds me on a rooftop.

Even though I'm not (yet?) a full vampire, I can run impossibly fast and climb buildings with ease. And, once up there, I can see and hear (and smell) every person, every action, every conversation in the city below.

I feel both powerful and completely, comfortably myself.

"You've made your decision," Jared observes.

I stand up, face him. Face my future. "I have."

He removes two thermoses from a shoulder bag. "I wish I could tell you to take a few days to be certain, but you would only suffer." Puppy eyes. How does this massive, terrifying predator manage puppy eyes?

I square my shoulders. "I don't need it. My decision won't change."

He regards me thoughtfully, hope lightening his eyes to a clear blue. "So," he breathes, showing me the clearly-labeled thermoses, "which will it be?"

I step into his personal space, trail tiny kisses from his mouth to his ear. "Guess," I whisper.

Dimples pop, teeth blind, eyes sparkle. Long arms wind joyously around me. "Here," he says, handing me one thermos, after carelessly dropping the other. "I couldn't resist bringing you one of Ruth's concoctions. It has cocoa powder and cinnamon and vanilla and a few other ingredients she says are secret." He's actually babbling. "Of course, blood tastes awesome on its own, but I wanted you to see that you won't lose variation in your diet."

I'm grinning as I open the container, take a sip. A second later, all smiles, all thoughts fade as I gobble the entire batch. The flavor is phenomenal, containing all the additives Jared mentioned, plus the essence of a fortysomething man with a fondness for bacon cheeseburgers and sweet potato fries. Plus. I can feel the donor's strength filling my ravenous veins, sending ecstasy racing from my head to my extremities. "Wow," I murmur.

"It never gets old," Jared vows.

"Never?" I get to experience this high every time I feed?

"Never," he repeats. "And every sensation is heightened." His voice drops an octave, brims with the promise of lingering, vigorous nights. 

Since that promise is what led me here, I throw myself in his arms. He catches me, lifts me from the ground, wraps my legs around his waist, devours my lips. Electricity sparks between us, lightning bolts blasting every area our bodies touch, with no regard for the layers of clothing separating us.

I don't realize we're moving until he sets me down in front of a door.

"Your home?" I ask.

A mischievous smirk. "One of them." He leads me inside, slams me against the nearest wall. Literally rips the clothes off my body. Within moments, I find myself lying on my back on a luxurious mattress, naked and legs spread.

Nerves send ice skittering up and down my form, causing my hardness to flag and my breath to quicken with fear rather than lust. "I've never done this before," I admit.

A soothing hand caresses my torso. "Neither have I." His scent calms me as he maneuvers one long finger past my groin to tease my hole. I expect pain when his digit breaches me but none comes; he slides easily inside, lighting my inner walls on fire. "That's unexpected," Jared comments, more fingers entering, playing with me.

"What." It comes out as a lengthy, multi-syllabic pant.

"You're wet."

Down there? "What?"

"It must be one of those mate things. We're supposed to be as compatible as possible. The only vampires who can procreate naturally." He frowns. "That won't happen with us, obviously."

Something clenches deep inside my core, reminds me of the twinges I felt in my lower abdomen this morning. Jared's wrong about that, I'm certain of it. "At least you won't have to spend, like, an hour prepping me."

A grin. "Nope. I can just slide. Right. In." He matches the actions to the words.

All thoughts scatter, dissipate.

He fills me, moves inside me, completes me. At first, he's gentle, languid, allowing me to grow accustomed to his encroachment. But soon, he increases speed, conquering my body with every powerful thrust. Sex with Danneel was never like this.

As if sensing my attention strayed to my ex for one second, Jared expeditiously alters his angle, rams a spot I didn't know existed.

I explode into a million flickers of pleasure.

Our fond forms, solidifies, binds us together for all time.


End file.
